


Something Similar

by cecilkirk



Series: fic prompts [15]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, Kind of angsty, M/M, Ryden, closeted!brendon, mormon!brendon, trans!Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:57:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilkirk/pseuds/cecilkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan is glad he'd built up courage that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Similar

“Are you sure you want to do this? What if people from school see you with me?”

Spencer looked over from the driver’s seat. “That doesn’t matter. I’m here for _you_ , Ryan.”

The name in his ears and he repeats it to himself like mantra in his mind.

He could do this.

He pushes the door open and accidentally slams it too hard behind him, grimacing at the sound.

“Easy there, bud,” Spencer laughs, leading the way across the parking lot. Even just the moniker thrown around is enough to make him smile, a bright joy bubbling up from between his ribs.

He could do this.

There was a type of anonymity in being surrounded by people. Ryan still anxiously scanned the crowds of people filing into stores and wading between them.

“Relax, man,” Spencer says, pressing his hand on Ryan’s upper back. “I really don’t think anyone’s going to recognize you.”

The crowds become claustrophobic and Ryan’s breath is suddenly sucked from his lungs. “But what if they do?”

“Then at least they’ll see you as you want to be seen.”

Spencer rubs Ryan’s arm briefly, offering a grin. Ryan reciprocates it, and it alleviates some of his nerves.

“So where do you want to go?” Spencer asks.

“Man, I don’t know,” Ryan replies. Letting the word live between his teeth is comforting; it feels like a step toward home.

Spencer notices this and grins at Ryan. He feels an ecstatic grin curl up his lips.

He could do this.

They settle on Barnes and Noble, and luckily it serves multiple purposes: music as well as books, and a Starbucks tucked into a back corner. It doesn’t have a sole purpose; it can’t fill out the shoulders of divisiveness. It can’t turn anyone away.

Ryan equates walking through the doors as a kind of welcome embrace.

He and Spencer split almost immediately, gravitating to different sections. They would eventually cover all the same ground—they had all the same interests—but in a different order. Similar, but not identical. Ryan enjoyed this about Spencer, always had.

Ryan finds himself in the music section, a long but fairly narrow area sectioned off at the top of a staircase. He follows the shallow CD displays along the wall, scanning for familiar names, deemed which he was willing to shell out money for, and ultimately decides none; his wallet was fairly light. He turns to switch his focus to the records just for the sake of ogling and collides with someone.

“Hey, sorry, man,” Ryan laughs. He looks at who he’s made stumble over his feet, and he feels he may do the same.

He’s seen this boy at school before, but never taken the time to really look at him. He has deep, dark eyes, warm and inviting like logs in a fire. His hair is short, bangs covering his forehead. The semblance of curls exists in his dark hair, and Ryan wonders what would happen if it were to grow out.

“No problem,” he says, and Ryan feels blood leave his face and pool in his toes. God, what a deep voice. Ryan found himself yearning to possess it, but also to let it stain his tongue and lips.

He blushes at this thought, but he won’t look away.

“Hey, don’t I know you?” he asks.

Ryan’s thoughts halt. The air in his lungs solidifies, sinks; he can’t breathe.

“I—” Ryan swallows, sucks in a breath. “Yeah.” He clears his throat to better fortify his words. “Yeah, probably have. Don’t really dress like this at school, though.” Ryan gestures to his guy-cut skinny jeans and clunky skater shoes.

The boy looks them over, eyes squinting slightly in thought. “What’s your name? I’m Brendon, by the way.”

He holds out his hand. Ryan shakes it, feeling nerves quiver in his fingertips.

A sinking feeling sits in his stomach; crushing defeat weighs him down, and he can feel an embarrassed blush begin in his cheeks. “Well, um, the name you probably know me by is—”

“No, I don’t care about that,” Brendon interjects. His voice is soft; he didn’t want to sound rude, but he didn’t want Ryan to get his feelings hurt. “What do you want me to call you?”

Ryan feels a glimmer of hope in his chest; Brendon’s words indicated a future instance of getting together, if not more than one. “Ryan.”

“Ryan,” Brendon repeats, smiling. “Hope to see you around school more, Ryan.”

“Yeah?” The word had slipped through Ryan’s lips and his stomach tightened in embarrassment.

“Yeah,” Brendon says. “You seem pretty cool.” He looks down at Ryan’s shoes and back up to his eyes. “You’re pretty cute, too.”

Ryan can’t bury the grin blooming on his face.

“Hey,” Brendon says, looking around behind him and then back at Ryan. “You can text me, if you’d like.” He digs a pen out of his pocket and takes Ryan’s hand, scribbling the digits across his palm.

“I will,” he says, gingerly curling his fingers into a fist, like the number might leap away.

Brendon flashes one more grin before walking away.

A flood of ecstatic thoughts begin to flood Ryan’s head, but they end when he sees who Brendon’s with. Fear drips ice into his stomach, but it’s one of empathy.

_Oh, no._

Ryan recognizes the family immediately. He had known about them; everyone in a small town knew which families were religious. But the Uries were known for their uptightness. Ryan recognizes the dad’s face from the paper, after having protested in front of a pro-choice organization. There are siblings scattered around in age, and one of them is currently a freshman, one known for being so devoted to Mormonism it was alienating. The mother he recognizes as a bright and chipper figure important in their town; for what, he didn’t really know. But she always had a smile plastered on her face, and it was deeply unsettling.

Brendon leaves with them, both blending in and standing out completely. Ryan feels a subdued panic surging through him. He can’t imagine the courage it would have taken Brendon to do what he just had with his family only feet away.

A weak branch of pride finds purchase in Ryan’s thoughts. Brendon had braved potentially being berated just for him.

Ryan blinks. He doesn’t know what to think.

Finally, Ryan and Spencer cross paths in the Starbucks.

“How are you doing?” he asks Ryan.

“Good. Good,” he repeats, trying to sound more assuring.

Spencer sees right through it.

“You sure? You look like you have something on your mind.”

Ryan’s eyes flicker behind Spencer’s shoulders. He hoped Brendon hadn’t left. If he had, he would be too far away for Ryan to ensure his safety.

His hands loosen beside him and he meets Spencer’s eyes again. “Yeah, yeah. I just…” He holds up his left hand to Spencer, smiling. “I got someone’s number.”

Spencer beams, examining the ink. “That’s great, man! That’s really great.”

Ryan reciprocates the smile, but with it brings nausea. His secret life had met with Brendon’s, by coincidence, fate, the inner workings of the universe—what have you. He knew the shoulders of the person he wanted to fill out were in his reach, but not completely in his hands. Brendon wasn’t going through something totally different.

Ryan rubs his thumb inside his palm, over the ink. He felt they had similar roots, that they could be complementary. Perhaps more like two halves of a whole than their moments among the CDs would lead Ryan to imagine.

Not identical, but similar.

Ryan grins, warmth dripping into his fingertips and a smile forming. “Yeah, it is great.”


End file.
